


halcyon

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Pre-Outbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Joel and Tommy sit together in broken-in canvas camping chairs by a spray-painted white sideline of a soccer field, the grass a lush green, in need of a mowing since yesterday, if not earlier. Most of the kids playing are distinguished by the color of their jerseys and not their technique, but Joel spots an orange-shirted Sarah running alongside her teammate, who passes her the ball.“C’mon--!” He stands up and clenches his fists, encouraging his daughter under his breath, watching her get closer to the goal.
Relationships: Joel & Sarah (The Last of Us), Joel & Tommy (The Last of Us)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	halcyon

**Author's Note:**

> rated gen but there is occasional swearing from the adults here. i know little about soccer, but i was made to play youth soccer as a child, so here we are
> 
> not a fic for The PhotoTM, but a precursor to it. shout out to [jason concepcion](https://twitter.com/netw3rk) to cracking a joke about sarah wearing an argentina jersey during his TLOU part II stream and thus inspiring this

Joel and Tommy sit together in broken-in canvas camping chairs by a spray-painted white sideline of a soccer field, the grass a lush green, in need of a mowing since yesterday, if not earlier. Summer has yet to bleach the blades yellow and brown, just a tickle of warmth on the suburban Austin breeze. Comfortable where Joel isn’t sweating in his dark t-shirt nor his denim jeans--he refuses to be a “shorts guy” until July starts acting up. For now, the sun is still bearable, shaded by the brim of his baseball cap and the occasional passing cloud. 

He sits on the edge of his seat, leaning forward intently when two groups of girls, one in Longhorn orange, the other in royal blue, run towards the side of the field they’ve posted up at, between the half line and the rectangle painted in front of the goal. Most of the kids are distinguished by the color of their jerseys and not their technique, but he spots an orange-shirted Sarah running alongside her teammate, who passes her the ball.

“C’mon--!” Joel stands up and clenches his fists, encouraging his daughter under his breath, and falls back to his chair with less grace when an opponent intercepts Sarah’s kick and sends the patchwork black-and-white ball back downfield. They did it outside of the goal line--so he’s pretty sure that move was legal--but that doesn’t make it any less of a nuisance.

“Damn,” He sighs, slumping back in his chair for a second before sitting up straighter, the flurry of activity slowing as the ball is kicked out of play. He looks at Tommy. “I swear she’ll score a goal before the game is over.”

“Relax, it ain’t even halftime yet--or whatever they call in soccer.” Tommy smiles, reclining in his chair, sleeves of his yellow plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, head tilted up towards the sky, the sun reflected as a blurred white spot on the lenses of his tinted aviators. “You’re really getting into this suburban dad thing, Joel. I’m a little worried for you.”

“Quiet now,” Joel pushes at Tommy’s shoulder, grinning. “I worked my ass off to get a house in this zip code, and you know that. Fixed it up so it doesn’t look cheap either, though Lord knows what it’ll look like when I finish paying off that _thirty-year_ mortgage,” He emphasizes, lifting his cap and pushing his hand through his hair at the incredulity of it; he’s only recently turned 30 himself. “But thanks for coming out, Tommy,” Joel continues, securing his hat back on his head. “Sarah will be happy to see you.”

“Any excuse to start drinking before noon,” Tommy raises the aluminum can in his hand, logo obscured by some koozie from a local chain restaurant. “No one knows I’m enjoying the champagne of beers.”

“Didn’t I tell you? This is a _respectable_ neighborhood,” Joel admonishes, the corner of his lip turning up as he leans down and pulls out a foam-insulated can from the cooler by Tommy’s feet. He closes the cooler lid and pops the tab with a satisfying crack; it tastes like a Coors.

“Really though, Joel, I’m happy to drop by. You keep talking about how she’s been doing so well in school, and in sports, too--she might just end up like her daddy when she’s older. Different type of football, but,” Tommy flips his sunglasses up into his dirty blond hair for a second, giving Joel a nod. “Makes me proud to be her uncle. Maybe even proud to have a brother like you.”

“Christ, Tommy, you are too young and too sober to be getting sentimental on me,” Joel shakes his head, laughing as he looks to the field, scanning the players and finding Sarah with a fierce look of concentration on her young face, a lock of blonde hair plastered to her cheek. “Don’t know where her brains came from, but I’m proud of her, too.” He affirms the statement with a similarly genuine tone, lifting his hand when Sarah spots him and grins wide during a pause in play. Her eyebrows shoot up, her mouth a circle, bouncing on her toes when she presumably spots Tommy next to him. She waves wildly at him, and Tommy smiles, waving back.

“Score a goal for me and your daddy!” Tommy shouts, and Sarah cups her hands around her mouth.

“I’ll try!” She yells back, before focusing on the ball again. Both of them lean back in their seats, though Joel catches the look of another parent, nose wrinkled, and he turns back around slowly, rolling his eyes when they’re out of his line of vision.

“Careful, Tommy, looks like we’re causing a ruckus,” Joel emphasizes his drawl in a low voice, taking a swig from his beer.

“Goodness, Joel, I do apologize,” Tommy announces a little louder in response, lifting his chin to look in the direction Joel has just looked away from. “I’ll be sure to mind my manners.” Joel curses quietly, and Tommy claps a hand on his shoulder.

“No worries, just some middle-class lookin’ asshole,” Tommy spits. “Probably scared his wife’ll want to fuck me. As he should be!” Joel snorts, but lifts his can in a cheers to that.

“You no longer loitering around frat parties, then?”

“Hell no! Stopped doing that a while ago. College girls like older guys some, but they like ‘em more if they’re made of money, and I’m no sugar daddy. Now, construction is good and all, but mowing lawns, or cleaning pools, especially for some of these ladies?” Tommy whistles. “I’d be getting tipped in more ways than one.”

“Alright, there _are_ children around,” Joel warns. “But that’s not the worst idea, especially in the richer parts of town…”

“Thank you. See, not so stupid for a high school dropout.”

They look back to the field when the referee blows his whistle, watching both groups of girls gather around their respective coaches on the opposite sidelines--halftime. Sarah jogs over after a few minutes with the nozzle of her water bottle in her mouth, and Tommy hoists her up in a hug.

“Hell, when did you get so heavy?”

“Uncle Tommy, that joke stopped being funny years ago. You know I’m graduating fifth grade soon!” Sarah laughs when he sets her down. “And you shouldn’t cuss, either.”

“ _I_ shouldn’t cuss?”

“Well, Daddy says _I_ shouldn’t cuss, but I’ve heard him do it sometimes too…” Joel tries not to sigh too loud. 

“Sarah, your daddy and I are allowed to cuss ‘cause we’re, uh, adults,” Tommy tries to explain, his voice strained with a laugh. “Let’s not talk about that. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Of course I am! I mean, we went to that concert together last month, but you’ve never been to one of my games before.”

“Well, I was told this was gonna be the last game of the season, so I wanted to help make it a little more special. But you haven’t scored a goal for me yet!”

“I will, I promise! I’ve scored one almost every game this year, sometimes two. The coach says I’ve probably scored the most of all the other kids in the league.”

“Remember, you’re still doing good whether you’ve scored a goal or not. That’s how you learn,” Joel steps in, smoothing Sarah’s hair. “Ready for the second half?”

“Mm-hm!” Sarah nods, adjusting her headband. “I know I don’t _have_ to score, but…”

“But you are good at it.” Joel concedes with a smile. “Try your best.” He gives her a hug, and she runs back to her team. 

“She is good at it,” Joel repeats, sitting back down in his chair. “And she ain’t lyin’ about scoring all those goals, either. Her coach came up to me the other week, he’s just another dad, but he told me about some of these teams in the area. For more skilled players, competitive leagues, training academies taught by real coaches and former pro athletes, stuff like that. Stuff that could take her to playing in high school, maybe even college, if she’s good enough. And I know she’s passionate about it--she gets up before me on the weekends, watching professional games online at six in the morning, practices by herself in the yard when she’s finished all her homework. But,” He heaves out a sigh. “It ain’t cheap.” 

“Joel, you do plenty for her already,” Tommy notes. “I know neither of us are made of money, but it’s not like I have kids to spoil. I can try scrounging something up if you need a little cash.”

“Tommy, you’re my little brother--”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t cut you a check! You work your ass off to keep your kid happy, and I know you wouldn’t want her to sacrifice this.”

“I’m not saying I need any money--but I appreciate the offer. “ Tommy sucks his lip, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. 

“Just need some time to put my pool boy advertisement up on Craigslist first,” He cracks, diffusing the tilt of the conversation. The game resumes, and Sarah’s team seems to have more of a strategy with the ball, though the goal they’re trying to score on has now flipped to the opposite side of the field. 

Tommy stays put, commenting he’ll keep an eye on the team’s defense, and Joel gets up, downing the last of the lukewarm coffee in his tumbler before heading down the sideline, finding a free spot to stand in. Some parents, ones he’s known for the past few spring seasons, greet him a little more cheerfully than others; not that he’s a social butterfly, but the new ones don’t always know how to react to a single dad, let alone one that’s five, ten years their junior.

Crossing his arms, he cranes his neck whenever the activity heads away from him, back Tommy’s way. He catches a glimpse of Sarah in a scuffle mid-field, stealing the ball and passing it to a teammate. The ocean of players starts to head back towards him, Sarah a little ways in front, but off closer to the sideline. She receives a long pass, running up to meet it, and then sprints close to the goalkeeper’s box, almost sliding when she aims a kick that flies past the green-jerseyed goalie’s reach and into the back of the net. Joel whistles and claps loudly, flashing Sarah a thumbs-up as the ref retrieves the ball from the goalie. She scores a second time in the fourth quarter on an even bigger lead, helping beat the opposing team 4 to 1. 

Tommy wanders up towards Joel when the game ends, the sidelines a mess of parents and kids with snacks and juice boxes. 

“Enjoy the game?”

“Hell yeah! I believe you when you say she’s got the talent for it--nearly bodied another kid who was trying to kick the ball around. I don’t really know the positions besides goalie, but offense, defense--she can do it all.”

“Yeah,” Joel agrees with a proud grin. Sarah jogs up after a little while, paper plate dotted with grease and a slice of pepperoni pizza in one hand, shiny gold trophy in the other.

“What’s that, your trophy for scoring the most goals?”

“Everyone gets a trophy at the end of the season, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah smiles, but not without a little exasperation.

“Everyone?” Tommy repeats. “Man, things used to be different when your daddy and I were younger.”

“Daddy, didn’t you say that when--”

“Alright, alright,” Joel interrupts, taking one of the chairs slung around Tommy’s shoulder and hefting it onto his own. “Thank you for dropping by, Tommy. It was good to see you.”

“Hold up - you have that old Kodak in your truck, right? Want me to take a picture of you two before I go?”

“Nah, they take photos before the season starts, nice lights and everything, part of the package,” Joel dismisses with a wave. “We’ll see you ‘round.” 

Tommy walks off with his cooler, and Sarah waves goodbye. Joel sits in the grass with her while she finishes her pizza, white cleats yellowed and looking a little beaten, more than a few streaks of dirt on her knee-high socks. Joel turns the lightweight trophy in his hands, Sarah’s name and the year engraved on a plate at the bottom, another to add to the collection on their mantle. He thinks about his credit score, mortgage payments, the college savings account he set up for Sarah a few years ago.

“...You really like soccer, don’t you, babygirl?” Joel asks, looking to Sarah, who frowns a little in response.

“Well, yeah. I know it’s not nice to brag, but I know I’m better than some girls. It’s kinda like how I am at school, I guess, but it’s even more fun.” Joel smiles at that remark.

“Your uncle Tommy was saying stuff about special trophies earlier. Coach Williams was, uh, talking to me about something similar. Other leagues nearby that let you play indoors in the winter, teams that play in real competitions, that help you get even better at soccer than you already are. I know you have friends here, but--would you be interested in that?” Sarah chews quietly, but nods.

“I think so,” She answers. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Anything for you,” Joel responds, squeezing her firmly with an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll talk to your coach about it before we leave. I think one of the teams even has the colors of that one player you like--blue and white. What’s his name? Messy?” Sarah laughs, leaning into his hug.

“Close enough, Daddy.” Sarah smiles up at him. “Thanks for thinking of me.”


End file.
